Me and the Devil
by Dickie Gayson
Summary: Jason Todd was tortured and killed by The Joker and Dick Grayson had disappeared; murdered by the Court of Owls. But even dead birds can fly again at the Gods demand. After all, nobody clips a Robin's wings and lives to laugh about it. Talon!Dick and Arkham Knight!Jason Team up
1. Night of the Hunter

A/N: Mori Shej is 100000% still being worked on, I promise! I'm halfway done with the next chapter, this has just been in my head.

ngl this is a self-indulgent fic. There is basically zero canon-compliancy here. Just consider it a total AU. I've been wanting a fic where Talon!Dick and AK!Jason meet. Shitty first chapter is shitty, but it will pick up from here.

* * *

 _"If you could only see the beast you've made of me_  
 _I held it in but now it seems you've set it running free_  
 _The saints can't help me now, the ropes have been unbound_  
 _I hunt for you with bloodied feet across the hallow'ed ground"_

In the belltower of the abandoned Saint Louise de Marillac Cathedral in Old Gotham perched an unholy, subhuman creature wearing the face of a hero. It was truly a nightmare to behold with it's garish blackened veins against lifeless chalky skin. The luminescent yellow eyes that lit up the shadows only added to the grotesque imagery. That it took the church as its temporary home was a travesty of the most profane form. The Talon had been quite handsome once upon a time and so good at heart. That was years ago, before The Court of Owls plucked Nightwing from the rooftops and brought him to their home in the sewers. The horrors that occurred behind those granite and lime walls were unimaginable. They twisted Dick, made him into a cold, cruel monster and they suffered dearly for it.

It was their fault, really. What did they expect, taking a highly trained hero and corrupting him down to the core through torture? Loyalty? No, Dick Grayson was far too stubborn and spiteful to bow his head to his captors. He could play the game though. He could play it with the best of them. For years he pretended to be their subservient little pet; their lethal weapon of mass destruction. When the time was right and they grew comfortable with the horror they created, he struck them down. It had been pure chaos. Only the other Talons posed a threat to him, and hardly so. Before he was given the serum, the Talons had been a challenge, but he could still hold his own. Now that he had their very same abilities? It was laughable how he tore through them. The utter fear in the Parliament members' eyes when they finally realized what Hell they unleashed on themselves was oh so delicious. Each and every one of them was hunted down and executed without exception. They paid for what they'd done in blood.

The last thing Talon remembered before the Court got to him was his frantic search for his missing little brother. Upon his escape and after the systematic capture and execution of the Court, he took to hunting his old family out of curiosity. Dick needed to know _why_ he'd been left to the torture the Parliament put him through; _why_ he was abandoned in the sewers of Gotham to become the monster he was now. What had been so important that nobody rescued him?

It hadn't been hard to get into the Cave and find what he needed. The memorial cases displaying his Nightwing and the Robin suits would have left an odd feeling in his chest, but emotions had all but been stripped from him. Now he was only hollow and so very, very cold inside. It was in his temporary 'roost' that he watched that video. The brutal torture and death of Jason Todd at the hands of The Joker played out on the dimmed screen of his tablet. The piercing 'bang' of the final gunshot may as well have been the sound of the last nail in the coffin for the clown. Talon knew exactly who was next on his list. _Nobody_ clipped a Robin's wings and lived to laugh about.

The whispers of The Arkham Knight reached him in his hunt for the Joker. Word spread through the underground of a newcomer armed to the teeth with a getup like Batman and gunning for the Batfamily. It was more than enough to pique his interest. Curiosity was always a strong point with Dick and that was something no amount of torture could take from him. So, he waylaid his hunt for a brief period to figure out who was encroaching on _his_ territory. After all, if anyone was going to do some bat-hunting, it was Talon.

That's where the stalking began. He dogged the armored man's every step. From his hideout near the Bowery district to the base of operations in an abandoned shipping facility between Otisburg and Burnley. He could go nowhere without Talon shadowing him. The man had damn good instincts. From the way he looked around, often in the direction of Talon, indicated that he could sense he was being followed. It was almost amusing how paranoid the man became. Cameras were set up all over the place, state-of-the-art security systems were installed, and extra guards were positioned. Not that it stopped the highly trained assassin from slipping through it all.

The new gang seemed to be laying low. If Talon had to guess, it was to avoid unwanted attention of the vigilante sort. His constant watching led him to learn the man was indeed planning a big move against the hero. Talon grew bolder in his movements as his curiosity rose. Soon, he was searching through the office and even rifling through the masked man's various hideouts. That was when he learned that it was not some new crimelord in the making, but rather his 'deceased' brother, Jason Todd, beneath that helmet. He wanted to rip the mask off and see for himself that the dead bird wasn't quite so dead. Talon grew nearly obsessive with his stalking. He felt a sort of kinship with the hero-turned-criminal. Both had been snatched from the Bat, both had been tortured, both had been presumed dead (though it was a little truer in Dick's case), and both had been forgotten by their so-called 'family'. All they were anymore were empty suits in display cases and cautionary tales of what happens when one flies too far from the nest.

Perhaps he grew a bit possessive of his brother and killed those that conspired against The Arkham Knight. Perhaps he grew a bit obsessive and watched the man at nearly every waking, and sleeping, moment. Why shouldn't he be? That was _his_ brother, _his_ successor. It was _his_ responsibility to make sure Jason suffered no longer. He failed his brother once already and he'd make damn sure he didn't fail again.

* * *

For weeks now, The Arkham Knight had the eerie feeling of being watched. At first, he searched but found no one. Then, he thought it might be his rampant paranoia growing worse. After all, the time to attack Batman was growing near and it was setting his nerves on edge. However, he wasn't entirely convinced it was all in his head. So he decided to ramp up security discreetly. He had extra eyes around the facility, hidden cameras in every nook and cranny, security systems to rival the Cave's. Still, nothing came of it. That would have put his mind at ease, but the feeling only increased. It even followed him to his hideout. In an act of desperation to escape the eyes, he dropped everything and picked out a new hideout. Jason made sure to take obscure routes to throw off any stalkers upon entering and exiting his new place.

The feeling was gone, but only for a short period of maybe two days, before it resumed. It made the man want to tear his hair out. He didn't want to admit the rising fear he felt, but it was absolutely undeniable. The nightmares only worsened from there. There was a constant thickness in his throat and a buzzing beneath his skin. Jason felt on the edge of panic at almost every point. It was a good thing he had full-body armor to cover his discomfort from the world. Sometimes when the anxiety got to be too much and the walls felt like they were closing in, he would lock himself in his office or his room and try to calm himself down through meditative techniques. The fear was all the worse because he had no idea _who_ was following him so closely. The possibilities nearly petrified him.

That fact brought the anger he was oh so familiar with. The heat of rage was almost comforting in these times. He could handle anger. Hell, it was one of his driving forces at this point, but fear? He had too much of that at this point. He was sick to death of being scared of painted freaks and crowbars. More than once he caught himself screaming at nothing to come out already. Jason was so on edge. He just wanted them to _stop_. But no one ever came forward and he felt slightly silly for shouting into the shadows. He just couldn't help it.

Once, he thought he saw glowing yellow eyes watching him in the hallway of his hideout. Jason immediately went on the offensive and tried to catch the stalker. However, when he got closer, the corridor was empty. He searched top to bottom, every last corner and hiding spot, but he was alone. An acrid taste had coated his tongue and he was afraid he really was losing his mind. Jason thought he escaped the madness of the Joker, but it seemed he was wrong. It only followed him home. He nearly vomited at the realization. It crushed him on a soul-deep level and left him trembling in despair.

Jason had screamed and screamed and beat his fists into the walls as if they were responsible for his state. There was a pounding in his head that wouldn't subside. Laughter shrieked in his skull, so real he couldn't help the tears that burned his eyes. His fists nearly broke from the force and abuse. That night, he didn't sleep a wink. The next night he abandoned that destroyed hideout. Oh, how he wanted to blow the building sky high as a catharsis, but he couldn't. It'd draw the wrong attention to him too soon.

Unknown to him, those luminous eyes were very real and watched his breakdown with rapture. Nightwing would have wanted to comfort the distraught man. But Talon was only interested in seeing the man come undone. The intense reaction was so _interesting_. The sheer volume of Jason's emotions was almost addictive to watch. Dick felt so incredibly empty inside, like his heart had been carved straight out. To see the fire of Jason's spirit left him hungering. He craved that heat; wanted to tear his brother's chest open, consume him whole, and fill the abyss left in place of his own lost soul. Maybe then he wouldn't feel so cold and hollow. If Dick had even the barest trace of his old self left in him, he'd be utterly horrified and downright sickened at the thoughts running back and forth through his mind. That man was long since dead.

Tonight, The Arkham Knight was running a deal between his own gang and the Falcone on a shipment of weapons. Talon slipped through the security as if it didn't exist and perched in the dark of the rafters. This deal was going to get _very_ interesting. Carmine had no intention of playing fair with the newcomers. He wanted to 'show them their place'. It was going to get bloody, and that's why he sent a lieutenant in his place. Well, Talon was going to make sure 'The Roman' got his message loud and clear. No one was allowed to mess with what was _his._

Jason had that feeling of being watched again. He tried to ignore it as he conducted the deal, but that was growing increasingly difficult. It was as if someone were trying to pick him apart through sight alone. Like a mantra, he reminded himself that it wasn't real. It was all in his head. That is, until smoke started forming around his business partners. It was a familiar sort of smoke screen, like that of a pellet he used to carry as Robin. He started to internally panic, thinking the Bat had found him out already. It was almost instinctive to draw his gun and hold it at the ready.

The frantic cocking of the others' guns had him yelling out for everyone to stand down in an effort to prevent friendly fire. His helmet allowed him to see thermal imaging through the thick cloud. It wasn't Batman that dropped into the smoke, however. The figure was far too sleek in build to be Bruce and moved like liquid. At first, he thought it was Nightwing, back from wherever he disappeared to. The fluid way he flipped around screamed of the hero. But then Jason noticed the knives. Bodies dropped like flies around the unknown intruder. Screams filled the air and before he could get a shot off, the group sent by Falcone were dead. All except one.

As the smoke cleared, he got a good look of the assassin. In Jason's opinion, the owl mask was fucking stupid looking, but the rest of the outfit screamed 'professional killer'. He had lethal looking clawed gauntlets with what looked like throwing knives poking up like feathers and a bandolier of more throwing knives strapped to his chest. There were even _more_ knives on his belt and God knows where else. Jason _knew_ those claws could rend flesh because he saw the man take out a few throats with what seemed like casual swipes.

The last of the guest entourage was held by force before the man. The way the assassin had him kneeling was very close to that of the execution position. One of his many sharp blades was pressed snugly against the mobster's throat in such a way that even a wrong flinch could prove fatal. Those hideous goggles were staring directly at Jason but the knife-happy killer made no move to end the man. Jason had his gun trained expertly on the other's head. After a brief staredown, Jason spoke up with anger.

"You have _one_ chance to give me a good reason not to put a bullet through that fuck-ugly mask of yours."

What he got in response was a slow, almost avian-like tilt of the head. Truthfully, it was downright creepy and made him want to pull the trigger. Before he could, though, the man spoke. Jason had to listen closely as the mask distorted his quiet voice.

"Confess."

He was about to respond with a resounding 'what the fuck' when he realized the assassin wasn't talking to him, but to the man in his grasp.

"What the hell do you mean?! Carmine's gonna hear 'bout this!"

The masked killer leaned down slowly until he was nearly brushing against his captive's face. Talon knew the man was lying. They had all been in on the plan. He had already taken out the reinforcements on the way in.

 _"Confess."_

The way his voice dropped, frigid and soft, was frightening on a primal level. The mobster's shaking was visible even to Jason. The sentiment of 'what the fuck' still applied pretty heavily to the situation at hand. It seemed that was all it took to break the man. He cried out with a voice pitched high in fear.

"Alright! Carmine was plannin' on clippin' some of ya 'n musclin' in on the rest! Just lemme go! I won't say nothin' to the boss, I swear!"

Jason's blood boiled at the scheme. He knew doing business with the Falcone was tricky at best, especially since they were new on the scene, but this? Oh, that Sicilian fuck was going to pay. He was brought out of his angered planning when his apparent ally spoke up.

"Omerta, Jimmy. Omerta _._ "

At the word, the man struggled briefly before stopping once the blade began cutting into his neck. He was all but crying at this point. Jason would say he felt for him, but he was a little too pissed to sympathize with the little shit. 'Jimmy' broke the code of secrecy and was fucked no matter which way he looked. It was tempting to just put a bullet through his head right now, but Jason decided to wait and see what the assassin was planning on doing with the man. Then he'd cap this waste of space and ship his body back to Carmine. 'The Roman Empire' was going to come crumbling down after this, he'd make sure of it.

Talon had no more use for the man. Any other knowledge was above the low-level thug's paygrade. Dick had heard far more in his time spying on the gang than this man was granted access to. All he needed was a solid confession, which he just got. His attention drifted back to The Arkham Knight. The gun pointing at him was of no concern to Talon. Bullets, at best, only slowed him down anymore.

"It's your head they came for, Knight. How would you sentence him?"

His voice, just as before, was all but a whisper. Jason was thankful for the enhanced audio of his helmet, otherwise, he'd have trouble hearing the lilted voice. The masked man was poised as still as a statue, ready to execute Jimmy if he gave the word. He wasn't quite sure how to feel about the unknown assassin at this point, though he was relatively certain that this was the one who was stalking him. _That_ would most definitely be addressed later. For now, he had a rat to deal with.

He walked around the table, gun still pointed at the knife-wielding man in case he tried anything funny. When he stopped in front of the two, Jimmy was basically hyperventilating and blood dripped from the worsening wound on his neck. Jason noticed the knife had been shifted to prevent accidental death. This guy was really serious about letting Jason decide his fate, it seemed. It might be flattering if the guy weren't so damn creepy. He still wanted to at least stab him a few times for stalking him.

"I got it from here."

That earned him another one of those odd, bird-like head tilts. Then, the thug was pushed toward Jason in a sort of sacrificial manner. Before he could try to flee, Jason grabbed his collar and lifted him up to eye level.

"You're gonna deliver a message to your boss for me, Jimmy."

The man shook like a leaf as Jason spoke. The fear was evident in the way his voice raised and stuttered over his words.

"S-sure thing, Mr. Arkham Knight sir. Whatever ya s-say."

Jason was smirking beneath the helmet. The deference given to him for his position in the underground crime scene took a bit of getting used to. It wasn't the same sort of respect and fear that Robin had gotten him. Robin scared criminals because that meant prison and The Bat. The Arkham Knight scared criminals because he was either their boss or their rival, and rivalries usually ended in death. They feared for their freedom with Robin. They feared for their life with Knight.

"Never said you needed to be alive to deliver the message."

Before the man could make another peep, Jason threw him to the ground and shot him through the head. He made an indistinct motion for this whole mess to be cleaned up. There was a whole lot of work to be done now that the Falcones pissed him off. But first, there was a certain bird-themed stalker he needed to take care of. He turned around, ready to start grilling the masked man, but was surprised to see the facility assassin-less. The fact that he just got Batman-ed by some guy in an Owl mask made his eye twitch.

"Where the fuck did he go?!"

A few of his men pointed upward. Jason followed the line and immediately picked out the sunroof he could have sworn he reinforced, welded shut, and set up with alarms to prevent just this. He wasted no time in grappling up to the spot and inspecting the window. If the killer had slipped through here, he took the time to rearm the alarms, much to Jason's frustration. The fact that he even knew _how_ to deal with his security system made the situation significantly worse. This was Bat-level tech. Who in the hell knew how deal with Bat-level tech? It set his teeth on edge.

The guy was probably expecting Jason to disarm the alarms and slip out to find him. A diversion tactic to buy him more time to escape. Well, Jason said 'fuck that'. He slammed it open and let his men deal with the blaring sirens now. There were more important things he had to deal with. Like catching a homicidal stalker that liked to cosplay as a bird. The head start he got from slipping out when Jason was distracted made this all the trickier. But he was trained by the Bat, and if there's one thing Jason can do right, it's hunt someone down.

His hunt, however, was cut short when he swung over to the neighboring building and was met with a pile of dead bodies. Jason nearly tripped over his own feet in surprise. There was at least twelve people stacked together and bleeding out over the rooftop. He needed to take a brief moment to recompose himself before assessing the situation. He recognized a few faces vaguely as belonging to a few ranking members of the Falcone. They were strapped with some heavy weapons. Jason had a growing feeling he knew _exactly_ what happened and who did it. That's when the white sheet of paper caught his attention.

Someone, he was betting that black-clad assassin, pinned a note to one of the bodies _with a fucking knife._ He reached over and ripped the note off. It was a bit difficult to read the somewhat messy lettering when he opened it due to the blood smeared all over the paper, but he managed. The note was short, sweet, and to the point.

 _You're welcome, Baby Bird._

That was it, but it made his blood run cold. Nobody knew who he was before The Arkham Knight. Jason was really, really hoping it was just a stupid nickname the guy chose to keep on with the bird-theme and not a reference to his time as Robin. It _couldn't_ be. Jason Peter Todd, the second Robin, was legally dead. He wasn't in the system any longer. It was just a name picked by an obsessive freak with a bird fetish. That didn't stop his gut from churning at the thought. He radioed to his men, informing them of the mess that needed to dealt with up here.

Just across the way and perched on a billboard sat the Talon. His enhanced vision allowed him to watch Jason quite clearly, even from this distance and darkness.

"Don't worry Little Wing, nobody will hurt you again. I'll kill them all first."

He watched until The Arkham Knight returned to the compound, out of his sight. Then, Talon turned and started making his way toward the high-end area of Gotham. There was a certain crime lord that made his list tonight.


	2. Kill of the Night

A/N: Still uploading on mobile, so apologies for mistakes. The next chapter will explain why Dick is so obsessed/possessive of Jason. Their 'partnership' will start soon as will other confrontations.

I had other stuff I wanted to explain, but writing on mobile is frustrating lmfao

* * *

In the bleak, black night, a lithe figure perched atop a roof. One could nearly mistake him for a statue, the way he held still as death with skin nearly as gray as the unforgiving stone he rested upon. It almost seemed as if he wasn't even breathing. _Watching, always watching_. Predatory gaze, sharp as razors and twice as lethal, was fixated on a nightclub of some renown crawling with patrons. That is where his prey waited. Carmine Falcone. A Sicilian mobster heading one of the oldest gangs in Gotham. No longer, not after tonight. He should not have tried to cross The Arkham Knight. Should not have tried to take what belonged to The Talon. His fate was sealed the moment he dared think of such mutiny.

At the moment, Talon debated on how he wanted to catch the rat. He could simply walk into the club. It's not as if any could stop him. All those flashing lights and pounding bass left him considering other options. That serum The Court injected him with enhanced his senses, particularly his sight and auditory senses. All those people he would tear down, their screams added to the deafening music and blinding lights, would be just another form of torture to the assassin. A masochist, he was not. And it is of no doubt that such an ostentatious entrance would draw unwanted attention of the caped variety. Now was not the time to alert The Bat of his existence. His time would come. It was just a matter of waiting for the right moment to strike. _Waiting, always waiting._

Cutting through the back would be effortless. Security wouldn't even need to know he was there. A simple snatch and grab with no evidence would be most efficient. Child's play to this creature with years of stealth discipline beneath his belt. However, he wanted the mobster to know what he did and why death was coming for him. Wanted _everyone_ to know that they cannot touch what belonged to The Talon without unholy retribution. His constant desire to be in the spotlight, all eyes on him like that time long since past in Haly's warred endlessly with the ingrained training to remain a soundless wraith. He had been born and raised to be a showman. From the circus to the manor of a billionaire, and even the shadow of The Bat, he'd always been in the limelight. The Court had no need for an assassin who would get caught. So, they had beaten that desire for attention like a wayward mutt until it retreated. They no longer dictated his life.

He threw himself from his perch and fell toward the pavement with sickening speeds. Somewhere in his memories, he knew he used to enjoy this, the sensation of flying, the rush of the fall. Now it was just muscle memory. The Flying Graysons truly died when Richard Grayson's heart took its last beat, even if this rapacious spector went on with his face. He swung effortlessly to the club's roof and landed with virtually no noise. It was unnatural, the way he ghosted through the streets without so much as a whisper in his wake. Even the infamous Batman was unaware of the revenant stalking the city he _thought_ was his. The Bat was wrong. Gotham belonged to no mortal. She was a wicked and greedy siren. No, Batman belonged to Gotham. Here he was born. Here he would die. Her Gray Son would ensure she got her due. He was cold and empty inside, but there was just the faintest spark, a sort of _hunger._ For the first time in years, Talon _felt._ He found himself almost eager to confront the one he once viewed as a father. There would be no tears shed on his part. After all, when has a corpse ever cried?

Deft hands made short work of the locks and he slipped into the building, intent on catching his target. Each move was serpentine smooth as he clung to the shadows. Cold, voracious eyes landed on a meandering guard, armed and unaware of the skulking predator. The man was of average height with a broad muscled build. There was a look to him. It reminded Talon of a cobra; cruel and venomous. He was just another on the seemingly endlessly list of remorseless horrors walking the streets. The heavens would not mourn his loss. The assassin crept ever closer.

The guard didn't notice the approaching killer. Futile as his efforts would have been, he could have prepared or tried to escape, perhaps radio a warning. Instead, quietus drew ever near. Closer and closer still, until he was but a breath away. He could feel the body heat radiating off of the man. That hunger in the former hero rose. The monster crawling beneath his flesh screamed for satisfaction. He did not hunger for flesh or blood, but something _more_. Talon craved the fire of his very soul. All that the assassin had been was ripped violently away, leaving a frigid husk in its place. Every person he saw had that heat in them; that spark of life he's been denied. He wanted to tear it out of them with his bare hands and shove it into his own chest. Maybe then he wouldn't feel so empty. _So cold._

Talon wrapped his arms around the man's throat and mouth, effectively cutting off any chance to cry for help. As he strangled the air from the struggling man's lungs, he leaned even closer until his lips nearly brushed the guard's ear. The howling in his bones reached a crescendo. His jaw ached to tear the man open. To return what had been taken from him.

Muscles coiled and the struggling ceased. Talon dropped the body to the floor with disinterest. The throbbing hollowness remained. _Another useless sacrifice_. He spared but a glance before he continued down the winding hall. As he passed by an opened door leading to the club, he spotted his prey watching the dance floor like a king lording over his court. The pounding of the club was like screeching in the assassin's ears. He could hear the patron's singing and laughing, talking and fighting. There was so much life, so much heat, he was nearly drawn in. How he wanted to rob them of it all. For a moment, he envisioned killing them all. Body after body _after body_. Perhaps that will dull the ache. But no, not now. Keen gaze returned to the mobster.

The boss looked up as he felt the cold wings of death pass over him. For a moment, he thought he saw a sleek black figure standing opposite of him, watching with unblinking, incandescent eyes. But just as quick as he saw it, it was gone. He blamed it on the stress of dealing with these morons and the flashing lights playing with his vision. He shook his head as he made his way back to his desk, ready to count his earnings. Carmine was waiting on a report from Roberts on the 'deal' with that new player, The Arkham Knight. What a fucking name. Leave it to this city to spit out another crazy costumed freak. Things were easier in the old days, when Bats didn't fly around and beat the shit out of people and clowns were actually funny. No one had any class or taste any more.

He sat down and took a sip of his bourbon, not looking forward to the long night of working with these idiots, but at least he would profit. Might as well be him who gained from this new mook. He nearly choked on his liquor once he noticed someone else in his office. They had a slender body, effeminate in structure and oh so pretty to see bending over the rail to watch the sites below in their tight, tight black suit. _'Is that latex?'_ For all his knowledge on weapons and armor, Falcone fell short in the variations used in the capes and tights community. All he saw were pleasant curves and the enticing lines of yellow curling over inviting hips. Carmine blinked in surprise, confusion clear on his face for a moment. Confusion, interest, and a touch of anger. He didn't send for any whores. Hell, he didn't even hear his door open or close. He most certainly didn't appreciate others entering his office without his consent, no matter how nice the sight.

"Who the hell let you back here?"

Nothing but silence met his inquiry. Then, the owner stood, all liquid grace and enviable poise. Those lovely hips led up to broad shoulders, which, admittedly, Carmine was taken aback by. He felt almost ill when he saw the face to the voice. Gray-washed skin looking more at home on a corpse than a living person was lined with black veins, as if someone injected ink into his blood. Vibrant gold eyes stared at the mobster like a starving panther. He felt his heart stutter then pick up pace. This...this was not natural. Whatever this _thing_ was, it needed to die. Quick as he could, he drew his gun and pointed it at the monster. It didn't even bother to look at the magnum. The way It watched the mobster made him feel as if he were pointing his fingers and not a weapon of death.

Talon took a step forward. 'BANG!'a bullet tore through his chest. He looked at the wound with vague interest as the bullet pushed itself out and stitched itself shut. There was a whispered 'oh god' that came from Carmine. Talon looked back at him with a slow tilt of his head. Then, he took two more slow, silent steps. 'BANG BANG'. Two steps, two bullets, two wounds that closed. The noise of the gun rang in his ears like a siren on repeat. It was irritating how loud it was. Quiet, he wanted _quiet._

"Why - _BANG-_ won't _-BANG-_ you _-BANG-_ die?!"

Each word was punctuated by another shot from the gun. Pity he sound proofed his room, otherwise his men would be crawling all over this place. He may not be what the feds considered a 'super villain', but he was no small-time crook hawking on a corner. He had an empire, men in every corner of this god-forsaken shithole. Carmine shouldn't be so easily accessible, he had top-notch security. This fucking _thing_ should not have gotten in here. Where the hell were all his guards?! He went to radio for help, but faster than his eyes could register, the monster threw a knife and stuck his hand to his desk. No amount of hard reputation could suppress the pained scream that left the mob boss.

Talon watched in vague interest as the man fought to remove the knife while guttural sounds of torment left his throat. Clawed gauntlets rested on the mahogany desk with quiet 'clicks'. He rounded the furniture, dragging the sharp digits across the surface with an unsettling scratching sound. The gouges left in their wake told of just how lethal they were. Carmine paled from terror and blood loss. The more he struggled, the more he lost. Talon invaded his personal space until the mobster was nearly bent backward in an effort to escape his presence.

"What the hell do you want?!"

Rather than answer, Talon slipped impossibly closer until he could feel the sickly hot breath of the man fan across his face. Brilliant, piercing depths stared with unsettling intensity. It almost felt as if he were searching for something as his eyes roamed over each minute feature of Carmine's face before settling back on his eyes. He couldn't handle staring into those soulless pits for longer than a moment before he averted his gaze. If Death ever had a face, it'd be this.

"Carmine Falcone. You tried to take what was _mine_."

The boss in question racked his brain for any time he ever crossed paths with this... _thing_ before. Even if he had, he would have kept a million damn miles away and _definitely_ wouldn't have tried to knock him. There's bad decisions, then there's goddamn suicidal decisions, and robbing the fuckin' reaper was the latter. His throat felt tight and dry as he went to talk. Pain coursed through every cell in his body from the knife still stuck through his hand.

"What are you talkin' about?! I never tried ta rob you of anything! Never seen your face in my life, I swear!"

Talon didn't respond, didn't budge from the way he hovered like a carrion over a corpse. Carmine stuttered over his bargain. He dealt with all sorts of devils everyday. Everyone had a price, even monsters like this.

"Listen - listen, if I knocked over somethin' of yours, it wasn't to my knowledge. I'll pay you for any damages or loss. Then, we can go our separate ways. I'll leave your stuff alone. How's that sound? We got a deal?"

Still, nothing but silence and staring. It was driving the man mad. Each breath made the wound in his hand throb as it moved around the sleek throwing knife. Finally, the yellow-eyed demon stepped back quietly. It's voracious gaze never wavered.

"You tried to take my bird, Carmine. My Little Wing."

That...okay so this creature was insane, that's great. How do you bargain with crazy? It's why Carmine stuck to the old-fashioned ways and mostly kept out of the way of those costumes.

"Wha-"

"Call him, Carmine. Call Roberts."

Shit, Roberts. He still never reported in. Turning over that new punk should have been easy. How did this thing know about that plan? His phone was being pressed into his free hand. When did that creature grab that from his pocket? The Roman was shaking hard enough from pain and fear, he nearly dropped the phone. It was difficult to piece together cohesive thoughts beyond the intense throbbing of his wound. He dialed the burner Roberts carried and listened to the endless ringing with growing dread. Then, a voice answered, but not the one he wanted to hear.

"Ah, Carmine! I was wondering when you would wisen up and call. Gotta say, I'm not too impressed with the trade. I'm thinking we should...renegotiate the terms of our contract. What do you say?"

It was The Arkham Knight. This night was just getting better and better, wasn't it? So this nutter in the black worked with Knight? Was he the guy's attack...demon or whatever? He sent this thing after Carmine? The gangster's voice shook as bad as his body and did absolutely nothing to hide the situation he was in.

"A-absolutely, Knight. Sorry for this...miscommunication. Now, would you kindly call off your pet?"

Instead of an immediate response, there was a hush of uncomfortable silence. Then, The Arkham Knight spoke, and the tone in his synthesized voice was none too reassuring.

"What pet?"

Before the mobster could answer, Talon grabbed the phone and crushed it as if it were made of paper. All the while, he stared at Carmine as if he were one second away from devouring the criminal. Carmine stared back at the thing in horror. Knight had no fucking idea who this was. He didn't have this thing on a leash. It was a freelance nutjob, which meant his chances just got dimmer.

"You tried to kill him. _My_ Little Wing. He is _mine._ No one touches what is _mine._ "

Fuck the knife in his hand, he's about to just try and sprint away. There was a possessive tone in Talon's voice that made it sound as if Knight were merely a toy, a thing that belonged to this creature. Shit, was Knight just the front? This was the one behind it all?

"No no no, you got it all wrong. I never intended on killing Knight. Just...just knockin' some heads. Not his!"

Talon shook his head slowly. That blank expression never so much as twitched since he turned around from the railing. It was more than unnatural, it was fucking _unholy_. The eyes are what really screamed of his intentions.

"You wanted to cheat him. I think he deserves a gift, don't you?"

At this point, the head of the Falcone crime family would be willing to put on a goddamn tutu and recite the Nutcracker for this whackjob if it meant Carmine would get out of this and never see those horrifying yellow eyes again.

"Name it and it's done."

Then, for the first time since he appeared, Talon smiled. It was just the smallest curl at the corner of bloodless lips, almost unnoticeable, but by god did it drop the room ten degrees and drive the air from the gangster's lungs. The last thing Carmine remembered was shrieking as the knife was torn from his hand and then nothing but black.

* * *

The Arkham Knight paced the warehouse floor with growing agitation. His men kept a safe distance - was any distance truly safe from his guns? - in fear. Ever since Knight came back from chasing that assassin, he was on edge. It was like nothing they'd ever seen before. Then, the phone rang and their boss went to work. However, that just made everything worse. They could see it in the way his posture stiffened and the way he went quiet. He'd always been good with words. No one knew who was beneath the mask, but he sounded smart, the way he could recite those boring old books and used words above their paygrade. But this call left him in silence until -

"What pet?"

Whatever he heard wasn't what he _wanted_ to hear, judging by the way he stared at the phone then launched it at the wall with more force than any of them could replicate. It hit the wall with a thundering crack and shattered into pieces. He sure was packing some hard muscles under that high tech armor. That's when the pacing began. It's been at least fifteen minutes and he was still going at it. Sometimes it sounded like he was talking to himself, but none of them were brave enough, or dumb enough, to get any closer to really find out.

He stopped suddenly and pointed at one of his lieutenants, a stocky man who only ever went by 'Razor'. One guy told him it was a dumb name and Razor stabbed him twelve times. No one commented on the name since.

"You, I want any and all information on that assassin you can gather. Sightings, names, victims, hideouts, his favorite pizza topping for all I care. Anything you can find - _NOW_."

Razor snapped a crisp salute and a 'yessir' before running out the door. Lucky bastard. Well, he _did_ have to try and study an assassin who got through their security, security meant to keep out the goddamn Batman, and killed a shitton of armored men like it was nothing. On second thought...maybe they could pool their money and order him a nice floral arrangement for his funeral.

The Arkham Knight resumed his furious pacing with renewed vigor. Another unlucky soldier by the name of Greg had the duty of asking Knight what to do about the dozen or so bodies piled in the corner. They were starting to stink due to bowel release and they really didn't want to be caught by Batman because of _that._ Greg, however, would rather get eaten by Croc at this point than interrupt...whatever it is his boss is doing. His friend, Bax, elbowed him, which hurt because Bax was built like...well...like a really well-built guy with lots of muscles. Greg was getting paid for his aim, not his poetic abilities, okay?

He stepped forward just a bit, which felt way too much like walking down death row for his liking. Even that little shuffle forward was caught by his boss. That eerie, high-tech helmet swung in his direction and Greg suddenly re-evaluated everything he's ever done in his life. Was it just him, or was it really hot in here? He was sweating worse than his dad at a confessional. Just as he opened his mouth to stutter out the question, someone burst into the warehouse. As Knight's full attention was drawn to the intrusion, Greg thanked every deity he could think of, which was about three but whatever. It was the thought that counted.

It turns out that the interruption was another of Knight's men who looked like he saw a ghost.

"Boss, there's...there's a gift out here for you. It's uh...I'm..I'm not sure. We didn't want to open it without telling you, but it's big. And leaking."

A big, leaking present in the middle of the night in Gotham was _never_ a good thing. There were a whole number of people it could be from, and all of them a nightmare. The Arkham Knight rushed out the door to see what was left for him. He had a distinct feeling about the contents and the one who sent it. The thought of being right made his skin crawl. This assassin was far too invested in Knight for his liking. He almost wanted to scream.

As he entered the unassuming shipping yard, he immediately noticed the out of place object. It looked like whoever sent it grabbed the first box they found and used it. It was just big enough to hold a grown body, which Jason would bet is what he's about to see inside. Still, he scanned the outside for any possible surprises. Nothing. Just an ordinary box. An ordinary box that was starting to pool at the bottom. Right.

With clear caution, he went to open it. The few soldiers around him stood at the ready. One never could be too careful in this fucked up city. He half expected an explosion when he pulled back the flaps, but again, there was nothing. As he did expect, however, was one body inside. Carmine Falcone's, to be exact. And he wasn't quite dead yet, just severely injured. Either the assassin wasn't thorough enough, which Jason sincerely doubted, or this was some seriously fucked up way of trying to gain his friendship. His stomach rolled.

Jason considered leaving Carmine right there in the box outside, but decided against it. First, he wanted to kill this fuck himself for what he tried to do. He also wanted to question him on who did this, just to confirm his suspicions. So, he grabbed the collar of the mobster's suit and lifted him up. There was a chorus of 'jesus christ's and 'holy shit's from those around him. Falcone wasn't quite as injured as he originally appeared. It was just blood smeared across his face and clothes from the now-bandaged hand. Jason's stalker kept him from bleeding out. How nice. Falcone's head lolled to the side, clearly unconscious.

Fury and something too close to fear raced through Jason's veins. He carried the man inside and dropped him unceremoniously onto the floor. Now, to wait. He stood over Carmine, waiting for him to stir and realize just how royally he fucked up. In another two minutes, the unwitting captive shifted and groaned. He spit out a curse when he tried to sit up using his injured hand. Then, he looked around as he realized he was not in his office at the club. Carmine looked at the looming figure of The Arkham Knight, who was much more intimidating from this angle.

"Fuck."

Jason mentally agreed that 'fuck' was about the most accurate descriptor for this current situation. Instead of voicing that, he unfolded his arms and took a pistol from his holster. Dread filled the sicilian man. This is most definitely _not_ how things were supposed to play out. Oh, how the tables turned.

"Mornin' Carmine. We're going to have a chat and you're going to answer _everything_ or you're gonna have a few more holes in your body to match the one in your hand, got it?"

The mobster didn't answer immediately. Instead, he looked around frantically. There was no sign of hungry yellow eyes or cold gray skin. No bronze claws. No soft voice. A feeling of ease spread through him, which was odd given his current position, but he was just a bit happy to be away from the one who did this to him. He looked back at Knight with a smirk.

"Yeah, sure. So long as you keep that demon away, I'll sing fuckin' Pavarotti for you."

"What demon?"

At the question, Carmine looked somewhere between mildly bewildered and affronted. That thing stabbed him through the goddamn hand for Knight, and the asshole didn't even know who he was talking about?

"Whattaya mean 'what demon'? The one who did this to me! Sure was talkin' an awful lot about _you_."

There was a bit more snark in Falcone's voice than Jason liked. He'd have to do something about that. Jason crouched down to get face to face with the mobster. The muzzle of his gun was pressed snugly to his captive's temple, letting Carmine know just how close to the line he was. There was still an indignant look on the criminal's face as he was clearly not used to being the one manhandled. However, he was at least smart enough to know when to listen.

"What did this demon look like?"

Carmine didn't want to think back on that ungodly face, but the magnum against his head was rather convincing. When he got out of this (when, not if), he would need to look into a better security detail. He closed his eyes to conjure a better memory of the creature.

"It had a tight black suit, kinda like it hangs around a bdsm club. Wore gloves with claws. Knives strapped all over the place. Looked like a fuckin' corpse. Gray skin, these...creepy yellow eyes and black veins. Looked like a person, but that ain't no person, believe me."

The suit and gloves sounded familiar, the knives were _definitely_ familiar, but Jason never got to see his face. The description sounded like something he really did _not_ want to be stalking him. A somewhat thoughtful look took over Carmine's face while Jason mentally reviewed what he heard.

"Kinda familiar, now that I think about it. What's that pretty boy's name? Wore black and blue? Nice ass but a real chatterbox?"

Jason was momentarily taken aback by that. He was describing Dick, there's no doubt about that. But that couldn't be right. Dick didn't look like some sort of demon and he most assuredly didn't kill. He was brought out of his feverish thoughts as one of the nearby guards piped up.

"Nightwing?"

Carmine snapped his fingers, as if struck by an epiphany.

"Yeah, that's the one. Add a mask and regular skin, he'd look just like him, 'specially from behind if ya know what I mean."

Jason momentarily saw red at the derogatory tone Carmine took. Sure, he held no love for his 'brother' since his escape, but that didn't change the fact that he hated others acting like creeps. To accentuate that point, he twisted the other man's injured hand. Falcone let out a pained cry.

"Focus, Carmine. What did he say?"

"FUCK! I was talkin' damn it!"

There was anger mixed with the pain. He wasn't the most docile of prisoners, that was for certain. At the sound of the gun cocking, he bit back any scathing retorts building up on his tongue. The pain in his hand made him want to pass out. If it kept this lunatic from doing that again, he'd play nice. For now, that is. There'd be hell to pay when he was free, though.

"Alright, alright! Fuck, he...he said somethin' 'bout me tryin' to take what was his. His b-bird or some crazy shit like that. Somethin' about a wing. A little wing! Said I tried to take his little wing. That n-no one can touch what's his. I think he was talkin' about you. Got a real crazy look in his eyes. Real possessive."

The room seemed to close in on Jason like a casket. This didn't make any sense to him. Little Wing. That was what Dick called him. Everything Carmine was saying pointed to Dick, but that...that wasn't fucking possible. That assassin...Maybe an imposter? Trying to get under his skin or something? It had to be that. Still, the rational part of him, the detective Bruce was raising, told him not to dismiss the possibility. To investigate, just to be sure. He suddenly had more on his mind than the desire for revenge against this fuck. He motioned for one of his militia to grab the injured gangster.

"Put him in the holding cell and make sure he stays there. I have something to check out."

He was already on the way out of the warehouse as he spoke. This was weighing too heavily on his mind to wait. Carmine let out an affronted cry as he was all but dragged away. What, did he think Knight was going to release him just because he talked? The asshole betrayed him. He'll be lucky if he gets a shot to the head.

As Jason made his way to one of his higher tech bases, that feeling crawled across his skin again. The feeling of being watched. He was here, right now. He might have heard that entire exchange. Jason looked around but didn't see anyone. There was that tightness in his throat and chest again. Whoever this was, and he refused to say it was Dick, made him feel like he was being hunted. It made him feel like he was back _there._ The desire to run was rising steadily. No matter where or how fast he went, that feeling was there. It was always there. If...if this really was Dick, then what the fuck happened to him? Jason needed to find out.

There were only a few places he knew of that could tell him what he wanted to know. The Cave's computer and that person's base. Jason didn't feel ready to try to hit the cave. Not yet. There were too many risks. That's what he told himself. How the hell was he supposed to find the base of someone if he couldn't even see them while they were fucking ten feet away?

Suddenly, he was hit with a thought. Maybe he was going about this the wrong way. He was trying to think from some random assassin's perspective. Maybe he needed to think from Dick's perspective. Where would Dick make a hideout if he went nuts and started killing people? Jason looked over the city critically. Well, he always liked being as high as possible. It's not much of a lead in a city full of sky scrappers, but it's something. He's probably somewhere abandoned if he really looked like Carmine said. Tall and abandoned, still not much of a lead. He'd have to go over his layout of Gotham again.

His steps were hurried as the trapped feeling intensified. The fight or flight response was absolutely screaming at this point. Jason swore no one would make him feel like this again, yet here he was, practically running from a shadow. It was absolutely maddening. There was an almost queasy feeling in his gut as the anxiety in him rose. This had to end. Jason refused to let whoever this was have this sort of power over him. Never again. He pushed into a condemned complex. The few squatters inside ran at the sight of the armored man.

Jason stopped and waited in an empty room. Sure enough, that feeling returned. He ground his teeth together.

"I know you're there, so come out."

Nothing. Not so much as a creak of the floorboards. He clenched his fists in anger and in an effort to hide the way they shook.

"I got your present. What do you want?"

The shadows remained still. He would have thought he was alone, but that uneasy feeling was so intense, he could practically feel the eyes on him. Then, a soft voice spoke right next to his ear. His heart nearly stopped then and there.

"I want what's mine."

Jason turned ever so slowly. Before he could get a good look at the assassin, arms wrapped around his neck. He fought immediately to breathe. Without hesitation, he stabbed the harpy blade he kept hidden right into the assassin's side. The man didn't so much as flinch, even as Jason twisted the knife. He tried again as he thrashed against the impossibly strong hold. Dark spots danced across his vision. No matter how he fought, the man never budged. It was as if he didn't feel pain. ' _No no no not again, please not again.'_ The thoughts screamed through his head as he fought. Tears pricked the corner of his eyes. The panic attack rushed up on him as the memories became too much. It was too much like then. He couldn't...he...

"Hush, Little Wing."

The quiet voice was just as familiar as the words. It did nothing to ease his frantic struggle. His attempts were hardly coordinated as panic overtook his logic. The black grew and grew until it overtook his vision entirely. His body eventually went limp in Talon's hands. He laid Jason down onto the ground. Then, he yanked the blade out of his collar bone. Talon looked over the knife before tucking it into his belt. The wounds were already healing over. His brother had put up quite the struggle, however sloppy it may have been. Had Talon not been given the serum, he wasn't quite so certain he could have kept his hold on the bigger man.

He knelt down next to the unconscious form of his brother and drug a sharp claw over the thick armor on his chest. It made an unpleasant scratching sound. He carved a single thing onto the chest piece; an 'R'. Then, he picked up Jason and made his way out of the building. Baby brother wanted answers? Maybe Talon would give them. After all, Jason fell just as far from the nest as he did. Besides, Talon had questions of his own. So many questions.


	3. If I Had A Heart

**AN:** Okay, so I'm mashing in three different storylines. There's The Arkham Knight verse, Talon verse, and Red Hood verse because, quite frankly, I want Jason to have a chance to murder Joker lmao Beyond that, it's mainly the AK verse with the others sprinkled in. I'll get to the whole 'working with Scarecrow' bit later.

I know Jason isn't weak or a bad fighter by any means, he's a badass and will definitely whoop ass later. I just figure a superpowered, regenerating, murderous Dick would be more than he could handle without any prior knowledge or chance to prepare. Dick is a creepy, well, dick lmao

Their 'partnership' is going to be rough, ngl. Jason wants nothing to do with him, but Dick isn't giving him that option. It'll delve further into the 'planning on overthrowing Gotham and taking down people' next, along with Jason seeing what's on that flash drive. It will be Unpleasant™.

Truthfully, I despise this chapter with a burning passion buuut that's apparently the direction it took so...here you go.

* * *

 **Chapter Three: If I Had A Heart**

 _"Pain? I know pain._ _Its molecular level._  
 _It pulls at my atoms._ _It sings to me._  
 _I'm ruthless, I'm poison._ _I'm a man with no face._  
 _I'm fearless, i'm heartless._ _A ghost with no soul._  
 _Possessed of the devil t_ _o sanctify, to consecrate"_

* * *

When Jason awoke, it was with the familiar feeling of fear coursing through him. He remembered waking like this day after day beneath Arkham Asylum. It was an ingrained reaction at this point. When he was imprisoned by the Joker, being awake meant being in pain. Ordinarily, he'd coax himself down from the edge of panic by reminding himself it was over. He'd look at his room for comfort; to remind himself he wasn't _there_. The tremors might ease. He might only vomit once. But such comfort wouldn't be found now. The place he was in wasn't familiar. It wasn't safe. Then, the memories of what happened hit him fast and hard.

He bolted up so quickly, he nearly tripped over the chair he had been placed on due to a rush of vertigo. His heart felt like it was trying to climb out of his throat from the swift pace it beat. That feeling of intense fear only increased when he realized he'd been disarmed. No guns, no knives, not even the ones he liked to keep hidden in his sleeves. The place he was in was clearly abandoned for quite some time. It was covered in layers of dust and falling apart every which way he looked. The room was small with one door and shuttered windows all around. Another thing he noticed was the heat. It was sweltering in the room, which was impressive given the relative lack of insulation and structural instability of the place. This must be the lair of that assassin. Well, this certainly made Jason's effort to find his den obsolete.

The fear and anxiety buzzed beneath his skin like an electrical current. He felt almost ill and just a bit dizzy. This was too similar to _then_. At least he hadn't been restrained. That wasn't something he felt he could handle on top of being kidnapped. In an attempt to keep his composure, he paced his breathing. That was harder to do when it felt like he was choking on the past. He needed to get out of here _now_. Jason was betting that the door was locked, but it was old. He could probably just crash right through it. Given that he didn't know where he was, he didn't know how high up he was or if there'd be anything to catch him, so throwing himself through the shuttered window was a decidedly bad idea. Still, he'd rather throw himself out a window and hit the ground than be someone's prisoner for one second longer.

Jason nearly missed the assassin in his inspection of the new scenery. He was sitting amidst a pile of blankets, looking comically close to a nesting bird. Just a few feet away was a portable space heater pointing straight at the killer. How he could tolerate all that heat, Jason didn't know. He mentally filed away the information for further study. It could point to a weakness; probably the cold. Right now, he was a little more concerned about the fact that this _thing_ just kidnapped him and is doing nothing but staring. Ordinarily, Jason would find the sight of the assassin peeking over a pile of blankets somewhat amusing. Right now he didn't feel like laughing.

He went still once the lean figure rose from their makeshift nest. And, _god_ , Carmine had been telling the truth. It was unmistakeably Dick Grayson's face staring at him. But it _wasn't_. It couldn't be. Dick wasn't this...this _thing_. What Jason was staring at was a horror, a monster. It had to be someone - something - trying to mimic the acrobat. Because the alternative, that this really was his 'brother', no matter how hated, was unfathomable. Jason couldn't even begin to think of what could do something like this to the man. A curse? His brain felt too full, too scrambled with torturous memories and new discoveries to really process what he was seeing.

The assassin took a step toward him and Jason stumbled back. He wanted to keep as much space between them as possible. That was hard to do when the room was small to begin with and cluttered with junk. He hit the wall and yet the killer kept coming. His earlier attempts to calm his breathing went down the drain as his pulse picked up pace. Jason clenched his fists, sorely wishing for a weapon, _anything_ , to hold. His eyes darted around the room in search of an escape or something he could use to defend himself. Any time his gaze landed back on a face so familiar yet so foreign, his heart clenched. He had to look away.

Jason had plenty of questions and he needed answers, but they felt stuck in his throat. That inhuman face staring at him with no expression, radiating cold and something much, much darker, kept the words down. Sure, Jason had plenty of questions, but did he really _want_ the answers? Could he handle what he was going to hear? There was no love in those unnatural eyes. No warmth or compassion, no rage, no joy, no life. _Nothing_. And this was supposed to be Dick Grayson? It couldn't be. It...it _couldn't_. It didn't make sense. The incongruity between the creature he was seeing and how he remembered Dick to be was startling to the point that Jason wasn't entirely certain he wasn't hallucinating the whole thing. It wouldn't be the first time he saw things that weren't real. Whether or not Jason could handle the answers didn't matter at this point, he _needed_ to know.

"Who are you? _What_ are you? Why am I here?"

There was no answer. Talon just slipped closer on quiet feet until there were mere inches between the two. Oh, how he wanted to back away from this atrocity, but he couldn't give the assassin that satisfaction. He stood his ground and forced himself to stare into those godless eyes. Jason was a breath away from screaming at him to just answer the damn questions and maybe decking him for this whole ordeal. He felt like he was wound too tight. One wrong move and he'd ignite like ill-handled dynamite. Before he could enact any of his urges, his captor finally spoke. Just as before, his voice was but a whisper. It made Jason wonder why he never spoke any louder, or if he even could.

"You know _who_. What does your helmet say I am?"

If Jason had to put a name to the slight shift in his tone, he'd say the assassin was almost amused. It didn't match the hollow expression and that created a disturbing sort of dissonance. What he asked was something Jason had noticed when he first saw Talon but didn't have time to investigate. His helmet wasn't reading the other man properly. Jason thought maybe it was a weird type of tech the assassin used to keep hidden or lure out those with his sort of sensors. After all, a dead body would be enough reason to inspect and no one would expect the body to move, let alone attack them. The thought that it wasn't tech only added to the horror of the situation. It couldn't be true.

"It says you're dead, which is _definitely_ going to happen if you don't give me some real answers."

The anger was a front, a sort of shield he defaulted to when he felt powerless and scared. It's been his safety blanket for as long as he could remember. All the way back before The Bat swept him away to his cushy manor with too many empty rooms. When he was still scrounging the streets like a starved rat. When he'd do damn near _anything_ to get by. Jason would say that frightened and desperate little boy died somewhere in the bowels of Arkham Asylum. It was easier than admitting he still saw him in the mirror daily.

The fire in his words flickered out in the face of the murderer. Slowly, Talon rose a hand toward Jason's chest and started tapping a beat over his heart. It was a quick tempo, _tap-tap tap-tap tap-tap_. It took a moment for Jason to realize the man was copying the rhythm of his pulse, calling out his fear without even speaking. He felt his heart skip a beat at the realization; _tap...tap-tap_. Jason felt sick. He tried to shove the other man away, to escape, _something_. The vice-like grip suddenly encasing his arms prevented him from doing any of those things.

"I didn't answer your other question, Jason."

Hearing that thing say his name was surreal. He hasn't heard anyone say his name since...since Arkham. Jason just shook his head as if that could retract his questions. He no longer wanted to hear the answers. All he wanted was to get out of here and as far away from this beast as possible. He didn't want to see that grotesque caricature of his 'brother' any longer or hear that familiar voice lacking its warmth. It was too much for Jason to deal with. For years he's been preparing to take on his old family, but _this?_ This isn't right. It's not part of his plan. He didn't know how to handle it. Killing Goldie was one thing, but this _wasn't_ him. The implications that something out there truly could have corrupted the incorruptible and unfaltering Nightwing was almost frightening. He was literally pulled out of his frantic thoughts by a clawed gauntlet gripping the chin of his helmet and forcing him to look at his captor. Jason squeezed his eyes shut.

"I brought you here, little brother, because..'

Even without seeing, Jason could feel the shorter man draw closer until they nearly touched. He radiated cold, even in the unbearable heat of the room. There was nothing but silence. After another few seconds of unnerving quiet, Jason cracked open his eyes. What he saw almost made him want to crawl back to that room in Arkham. Those golden eyes were staring directly into his with a savage sort of hunger. The way he was looking at Jason made it seem like he wanted to tear Jason apart or lock him in a cage like a pet. That grotesque face was still empty of emotion, as if he could no longer form any expression. It made Jason's skin crawl. Then, he spoke in those quiet, almost ravenous tones.

'.. _you_ are **mine**."

Something inside Jason felt like it shattered at the sentence. The rapacious way the words hung in the air left him ready to lose any semblance of composure he had. He didn't even think as he attacked. All that was repeating in his head were those words and memories, _so many memories_ , of another person who held him down and hurt him. There was a sickening crack as he drove an armored boot into the assassin's knee. Jason didn't look back as the injury started healing. He ran straight for the closest window.

Before he could even touch the frame, he was sent crashing to the ground. The floor creaked ominously at the force and dust flew around the room from the frenzied struggle. Had this been a fair fight, it would be close, with blow matching blow and blood pouring from both. But it was not fair. Dick had always been hard to hit. He was faster than Jason, faster than _Bruce;_ 'by a whisker' Selina had once said. Now he moved like he was a wraith; silent and untouchable.

 _Miss after miss after miss._ It made Jason feel all the more helpless and infuriated. Oddly enough, Dick wasn't bothering to really fight back. Jason knew he could, felt that unnatural strength in the way Talon restrained him. Instead, he just slipped around the strikes and _stared_. It was as unnerving as it was infuriating. Finally, he managed to land a hit on Dick's chest, sending him flying backward. Jason followed through with another hit as he yelled at the man.

"No, I'm not! I don't belong to you, or Bruce, or that fucking clown or _ANYONE_!"

He made no effort to moderate his voice. Jason was far past that point. What Dick said, it tore open the festering scars inside of him and drove him into a frenzy. Nobody owned him anymore. He'd rot six feet underground before he _ever_ let that happen again, even if he had to put himself in that grave. There were things out there much worse than death. Jason Todd had come to know that harsh truth intimately.

For all of Jason's hate, his fear, Talon remained stone-faced. Jason could tell it wasn't a ruse. Dick, if this really was Dick, truly didn't care for the pain and torment raging inside the younger man and that _hurt._ It also made the decision to kill the bastard that much easier. Figuring out how to take him down was a whole other endeavor. He healed rapidly, as was obvious by the now uninjured leg. Not to mention his enhanced _everything_. But Jason's fought tougher enemies, right? There was no confidence behind that thought. Dick beat some of the best while he had been a regular human with restrictions on force and a code of ethics to follow. This was a whole new ball game and it felt rigged.

Every effort to overtake his opponent was parried with ease. The way Dick cocked his head made it seem as if he found this whole thing amusing. Quick as lightning, Dick struck his throat. It wasn't hard enough to do any real damage, but just hard enough to hurt like a bitch and make breathing difficult. Jason started gasping as he clutched his throat. He bent over in an effort to catch his breath. As he did that, Talon walked around him slowly and looked him over. It almost seemed as if he were appraising the man. Then, he hit the back of Jason's knees, causing him to crumble to the ground.

Jason fought to get back to his feet as he gasped for air. Talon was having none of that. Almost gingerly, he used a foot to turn his 'brother' over. Then, he rested that foot on the armored chest, making breathing just that much more difficult. With a casual air, Dick crouched down and hovered over Jason. That cold, empty look still inhabited his ghastly features as he stared at the mask Jason created. One clawed finger scratched down the surface, then found the hidden latches one by one. How he knew exactly where they were, Jason wasn't certain but it was _terrifying._ How closely had Talon been watching him?

In an effort to get away from this nightmare, Jason grabbed for one of the many knives strapped to Talon's chest. His attempt was thwarted when the assassin grabbed his wrist in an unforgiving grip and slammed it back to the ground. The angle his arm was twisted in made Jason writhe in anguish despite his attempts to maintain an unaffected demeanor. He choked back the groan filling his lungs. This damned assassin humiliated him enough, he would not get the satisfaction of hearing Jason's pained cries. Talon ripped the unclasped helmet from his head with little care and leaned closer, as if even this distance was too great. When he spoke, there was an almost sadistic edge to his soft words.

"If you don't belong to the Joker anymore, then _why_ is he still alive?"

The downed man felt like he was choking for an entirely different reason. Just the thought of that painted freak made anxiety and fear flood his veins. He shut his eyes, feeling too much like a child trying to hide from the boogeyman. Talon continued on.

"If you don't belong to him, then _why_ do you cry at night?"

Despite the fact that he was whispering, his words screamed in Jason's head. He struggled beneath the unmoving man, as if he could run from what Talon was saying. The assassin grabbed his tender throat and forced Jason to look into his merciless eyes.

"You're still his toy, Jason."

"No, _no.._ "

"You ran from the asylum,'

"No, shut up, shut up-"

'but he's still your _master_."

" _NO! SHUT UP, YOU'RE WRONG!"_

Jason thrashed against his hold in an attempt to escape the words dragging him down. They crawled beneath his skin, dragging across his nerves like bits of broken glass. It _hurt._

"Y-You're...you're wrong. I'm not... I'm _free_. Not his. _Not his."_

His words were ragged and gasping. Tears burned his eyes as he fought to free himself. He was always fighting for his freedom, it seemed. He wasn't the clown's, he _wasn't_. Talon just shook his head slowly, clearly not believing his words.

"You're not free of him. But you can be, once you kill him. So, why haven't you?"

There were too many answers to that. He was afraid. Fuck, he was still so afraid of the Joker. He wanted proper vengeance, to make it as painful as possible. Wanted to make _him_ kill that sick freak. No matter how he struggled against the man pinning him, Jason couldn't escape. It was clear Talon wasn't moving until he got his answer. Jason licked his lips as he thought of what to say. His whole body shook from the adrenaline and emotional overdose.

"I'm not telling you. I don't know _you._ "

That actually seemed to surprise Talon a little, if the slight pullback was anything to go by. What? Did that thing think Jason was just going to believe him because he knew Jason's name and wore Dick's face? That monster was a coldblooded murderer. He'd need more evidence than _that_ to even entertain the idea. Like hell he'd spill what he's been working years onto the asshole holding him hostage. That's happened to him once already and that was one time too many.

Talon let out a huff of air as he finally backed off of Jason. In an odd show of civility, he offered a hand to help his brother up. Still feeling rather perturbed by his earlier words and actions, Jason ignored the hand and got up on his own. His legs felt weak and shaky beneath him, but he did his damnedest to hide it. He didn't want to show any more weakness in front of his captor than he already has. Talon lowered the proffered gauntlet and spoke again.

"You want a DNA sample? Or would you rather see what happened to me?"

There was a tone in his voice, a venom that told he was not entirely pleased with Jason's distrust. That distaste was definitely mutual. This time Jason was the one surprised. He figured there'd be some more attempts to convince him, maybe a few memories recalled. But to see what happened? If it was recorded, he'd have to analyze it to see if it was the real deal or a fake out.

"What, like a video?"

Talon turned his back to Jason, a decidedly bold move. Jason might have taken the opportunity to attack, but he had a feeling this was an unspoken test. The lax, open posture was almost begging to be assaulted. The slight curl of the gauntlets and bend of the knees told a different story. Should he make a move Talon didn't like, the killer was more than ready to strike back. No...not a test, a _trap_. Like hell Jason would willingly walk himself into it. Once was more than enough, in his opinion. The assassin grabbed something out of Jason's view and came back. His aloofness was apparent in the almost disinterested pace he took. He presented a small flash drive for the younger man to see.

"Exactly like a video. It's only fair. After all, I watched what happened to _you."_

Jason felt momentarily numb. Then, a whole range of emotions flooded him, all negative in nature. The strongest sensation was the feeling of utter shame. If he saw what happened to Jason, then he saw how Jason broke. How he begged and obeyed like a dog. Following hand-in-hand with shame was rage and horror. He could barely contain his choler.

"You _what?!_ "

He was a hairsbreadth away from attacking the black-clad man once more, damn the odds. He had _no right_ to watch that video. No goddamn right! Instead of reacting to his fury, his hurt, Talon just gave that amused little head tilt again.

"Didn't you know? Bruce has it _all_ saved in the Cave."

The flash drive danced across his fingers as Talon toyed with it. Jason would have to address the fact that he somehow got into the Cave's computers another time. What was drawing his attention the most was the fact that Bruce had it all saved. Bruce saw what that...that monster did to him and _still_ didn't save him. Jason hasn't even enacted his plan and yet he suddenly felt like he still failed somehow.

He paced across the floor as the thoughts overwhelmed him. The room suddenly felt much smaller than before. Still, Talon watched with that cool, clinical look. Jason suddenly rounded on him and held out his hand. The impatience was clear in not only his posture but by the tone of his voice.

"Give me the flash drive."

The killer looked slowly from the awaiting hand back to Jason's face. The flash drive remained in Talon's grasp. Another shake of his head had Jason ready to burst. If he had to cut off that freak's hand to get it, so be it. He needed to see what was on that flash drive. If his time in Arkham was on there...

"That's not the deal, Jason. Tell me your plan."

The fact that Talon had already scoured his various hideouts and dens to learn the plan wasn't mentioned by the stalker. He wanted to hear Jason say it. There was so much wrong with his idea and Talon would make him see it one way or another. Jason let out an agitated sound and resumed his pacing.

"I'm gonna make _him_ do it. Make _him_ kill the Joker. He won't have a choice. Then, I'm going to bring Gotham to its goddamn knees."

Talon shook his head in disagreement. They both knew Bruce well enough to know no one could force him to do anything. He's stubborn enough, and intelligent enough, that he always seemed to find a way around the problem.

"He won't do it."

There was such certainty in his voice, one could almost assume he'd seen the future. That was a deep-seated fear of Jason's; that Bruce would turn his back on him again. But, he wouldn't choose that subhuman piece of garbage over his son. He _couldn't_.

"He will."

A noise of disgust left Talon's throat at that. It was clear he had a very different perspective on their adoptive father's priorities. When he spoke, there was a disparaging tone to his voice, making Jason feel almost foolish in his planning.

"And why's that? Because you ask nicely? Because you're his _son?_ You were in Arkham. I was in the sewers. And yet, the World's Greatest Detective still couldn't find us? _In Gotham?_ He doesn't care, Little Wing. He replaced you _and_ me. He'll _never_ care enough. Not more than he cares for his code."

Jason's pacing stopped dead as the words circulated his brain. They seemed to weigh each limb down like an anchor. That's what the dark voice in his mind told him every time he thought about the plan. Bruce didn't care. Bruce replaced him. Bruce would never choose him. Talon finally stopped twirling the small memory stick and moved closer to the overwhelmed man. His voice was soft as ever, but there was a sharp, sharp edge to it.

" _You_ need to kill the one who hurt you. _You_ need to kill the Joker. Then, _we_ can take Bruce."

At the feeling of something being pressed into his hand, Jason glanced down. Talon gave him the flash drive without issue. He felt totally overloaded at this point; like every last cell in his body had been scrubbed raw and doused with acid. He looked back at the killer slowly, weighted by all that had happened today. So many questions rested on his tongue, but he couldn't seem to get them all out.

"What about that _replacement?_ "

When he spoke, it was with such intense contempt, one could almost see the venom dripping from his lips. Talon gave him a harsh look in return.

"You'll leave Tim alone."

 _Tim_. Talon referred to him by name. It made that hate in Jason burn all the hotter. How Dick could just...let him go was beyond Jason. That brat replaced him, _them_.

" _What?_ No! He's gonna pay just like them! He-'

Jason's words were cut off as Talon rushed him. A forearm was pressed to his throat, strangling Jason. He fought against the hold once more. The blood-curdling crack of Talon's ribs snapping was the only sign Jason was causing any damage at all. Talon just leaned forward with that insane, possessive look in his eyes.

"You. Will. Leave. Tim. Alone."

His voice was softer than before but so much more lethal. Jason gasped for air as he tried to speak.

"W-why? He re..placed us."

In response, he got a curious little look. Then, Talon eased up off of him. Even still, he crowded the younger man's space. It made Jason feel far too much like a mouse in front of a cat for his liking.

" _You_ replaced _me_. Should I make you pay?"

The definitive answer was 'no', but Jason didn't voice that. The indignation burned through him. This was _different!_ Rather than say anything, Jason stood in almost petulant silence. He made sure to put that flash drive in one of his pockets before he accidentally crushed it in his anger. As Talon spoke, there was a definite unhinged edge to his voice. It made an uneasy feeling bolt through the haze of rage burning through Jason.

"Robin is _mine_. Tim is Robin. _Tim_ is _mine_."

With each word, Talon tapped his chest. Jason glanced at the offending finger and had to double take at what exactly he'd been tapping. There was a crude 'R' carved into his chest plate, no doubt courtesy of Talon. _That_ was the point he was making. Even when those pernicious words returned, Jason couldn't tear his eyes away from that symbol. His blood ran cold.

" _You_ were Robin."

He didn't need to continue to make his statement clear. The words he denied before rang through his head. ' _you are mine.'_ As Robin, Jason wanted his predecessor's approval, even if he acted like he didn't. Even before The Boy Wonder came to be, Jason had been in awe of Dick. He got to watch him once upon a time on the trapeze, when the Graysons still flew, and it was one of the most amazing things he'd ever witnessed. Then, when he learned that not only did he get to become Robin, but the previous one was _that_ acrobat? Jason was star-struck. He worked to live up to that legacy, to make him proud. Now, he wished he never laid eyes on those goddamn colors or tried to take those tires. This was a soul-deep pain he couldn't ignore.

"I'm not yours."

His voice was a whisper, as if talking to himself, trying to convince himself his words were true. He couldn't bring himself to speak any louder. That fury that was fueling him was dying out under the crushing weight of sadness. God, he had a whole plan to kill his idol but he was too late. Someone beat him to it, did even worse than he planned, and that left a strange curdling in his gut. He wished they murdered Dick Grayson because this was just inhumane. Sure, Jason wanted to slit his fucking throat, but this? This was cruel beyond words. It was sick and what was left was an abomination to make the heavens weep.

Gently, almost affectionately, Talon tilted Jason's head up to meet his gaze. The malice in those vibrant eyes didn't match the tenderness behind the action.

"By my name you lived, Little Wing."

He prodded the scrawled 'R' again, as if to accentuate his point.

"By my name, you'll die. But not before I say so."

A chill wracked his body at the earnestness of the words. Not for the first time did Jason contemplate on just putting a bullet through his own skull. It would save him the pain his future promised. He had the distinct feeling he wouldn't get the chance to even raise the gun before Dick intervened. Jason must have been emoting more than he realized because Talon let out an odd sound and pat his cheek in what was supposed to be a comforting move. The claws cut into his flesh, leaving angry red marks in their wake. Neither reacted to that.

"Don't worry, I don't want you to die yet. So, I'm going to help you."

Jason didn't even bother to respond. There was no point. He had no say, he could tell. It was unintentional, but he was reverting back to that subservient mindset of a captive. Being still, being quiet, being submissive. When he goes over this event later, he'll hate Talon. He'll hate himself even more. But for now, he slipped into that role like a well-worn glove. Only when those cold gloves traced the 'J' on his cheek did Jason look at Talon. There was never a look so close to the embodiment of Hell than the one in those ocher eyes.

"He'll pay. They both will. Then, we can take Gotham."


	4. Counting Bodies Like Sheep

A/N: Guess who isn't dead and is still writing? me, that's who. This didn't go at all how I intended but ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ gotta got with where it takes you. I wrote this in sleep-deprived sessions where my soul was so dead, not even the Lazarus Pit could bring it back, so it's a hot mess and all over the place, sorry ughghh.

I have like...4 or 5 requests I have to do, so RIP Me.

* * *

 **Counting Bodies Like Sheep**

 _"I was hung from a tree made of tongues of the weak_  
 _The branches, the bones of the liars, the thieves_  
 _Rise up above it, high up above and see  
_ _One night of the hunter, one day I will get revenge"_

Jason's heart thumped an almost painfully quick pace in his chest as he lay on the dusty floor. He stared wide-eyed and unseeing at the ceiling as if it held the answers to his problems. Talon hovered over him, looking far too much like a leopard waiting to feast for Jason's liking. Still, he did not move. The weight of his predicament and new revelations seemed to keep him tied down and helpless. He certainly felt helpless. The assassin watched with a morbid sort of fascination as the resignation killed what little light had sparked in Jason's eyes.

With no warning, Talon rose on graceful feet and turned from the downed man. It was clear he viewed Jason as no threat just in the relaxed way he moved. There was no line of tension drawing up his shoulders. No hint of wariness in his posture. It was equal parts humiliating and irritating to be thought so little of. Jason watched the killer's soft steps closely, still on edge from the earlier assault. Every shift set his teeth on edge. Talon was unpredictable with his temper, making him a troubling foe.

He seemed to stop before a spot of blank, peeling wall just out of Jason's view and _stare._ It seemed to be a recurring theme with the new Dick Grayson. He stared far more than before and it was downright creepy. There was something he couldn't quite place in those gleaming eyes that made him want to crawl out of his skin. Jason saw pure evil, was face-to-face with it on a daily basis for a year, yet this was something completely different. It left the astringent taste of fear lingering like bile on his tongue. It kept his pulse pounding despite his best efforts to keep it calm. Yes, there was something completely different about this _thing_ and all the demons Jason faced in his life.

Cautiously, he rose to his feet. His efforts to mask his movements were rendered useless as Talon heard him. The slight cocking of his head in Jason's direction was a dead giveaway of that. He had to resist the intense urge to try and brutalize the assassin who faced away from him. It wouldn't end well, he knew that much. The small amount of satisfaction he'd gain from landing a few hits wouldn't outweigh whatever the repercussions would be. Personally, Jason would prefer to be stabbed but Talon seemed to have a fondness for causing mental and emotional wounds. That was something he had no desire to endure _at all_.

Jason noticed that the only exit that wasn't boarded over was right beside Talon. _Of course._ He doubted that was a coincidence. Sure, he could try to make a break for it but he highly doubted he'd make it out before being dragged back in. To make matters worse, Jason was still missing his arsenal of weapons and tools that had been stripped of him while unconscious. He flexed his hands, sorely wishing for a gun or _something_ to defend himself with, no matter how useless. This feeling of being totally exposed and helpless was something Jason absolutely _loathed_. No matter what he's gone through, the horrors he's triumphed and training he went through, he was _still_ the victim. It was driving the man completely insane.

There was a fury in his steely gaze that he was positive Dick could feel. If looks could kill, his captor would most assuredly be nothing but ashes from the glare penetrating his back. It was with a certain degree of reluctance that Jason turned that angered glare from the black-clad man to sweep over the room in a more meticulous examination. Letting the crazed killer out of his sight wasn't something he was particularly keen on doing. However, he needed to find his gear and he couldn't exactly do that while trying to burn a hole through the back of the other man's skull.

Now that he wasn't panicking he was able to take note of a few more key details. All the windows but one had been boarded up, the lighting was purposefully dim to the point of near blackness, and there was an array of vicious looking blades of many forms lining the tops of boxes near Talon's little nest. What had appeared to be brown blankets were in reality white blankets completely covered in stains. It didn't take the world's greatest detective to guess where those brownish stains came from. The thought of just how many bodies it took to get that much residual blood was baffling. The analytical side of him was legitimately curious just how many DNA samples he could get from one swipe across the cloth.

He spotted his weapons and belt sitting out in the open on a weathered desk near Talon. Jason was mentally weighing whether or not he really _needed_ those items or if he should take his chances. It was a short-lived thought, as he knew Talon had very purposefully placed them where he could see but not quite reach without getting near the assassin. All these false little windows of opportunity only added to Jason's growing resentment. That asshole was toying with him to see if he'd fall for those traps. Jason clenched his jaw in frustration as he swiped his now scratched helmet from the floor. Just as he was about to slide it back on, Talon's quiet voice cut through the air.

"Don't."

Jason paused, helm above his head, and stared at the assassin. Then, he took notice of the piercing yellow eyes in the dim reflection of a mirror so grimy it could almost pass as part of the wall. Had it not been for the tell-tale golden glow he wouldn't have even noticed that Talon was watching him. _He'd been watching this whole time._ Jason locked eyes through the dirtied reflection and gave a defiant sneer before forcefully putting the helmet on. All systems blinked on as the suit reconnected with its missing piece. There was a somewhat entertained look on the killer's otherwise blank features.

"Robins never were very good at following orders."

That made Jason's lips twist in an irritated scowl. He _hated_ that Dick kept bringing it back to that. _Robin_. The argument _'I'm not Robin'_ sat heavy on his tongue, waiting to come out again. It was useless. To this bastard he'd always be Robin. Once a bird, always a bird. Jason could almost swear that the carved R on his chest was mocking him. He stomped heavily toward Talon, who still faced the wall but tracked him through the mirror. Jason wasn't quite sure whether he was drawing closer to punch the frustrating man, to grab his gear, or just try to jump out the window. Perhaps a daring combination of all three, though not quite in that order.

He came to a slow halt as his eyes landed on the section of wall Talon was covering. All thoughts of escape and his supplies left his head. Carved crudely into the wood was a long list of names; some were already scratched out. Jason read the list and recognized quite a few, if not only from word of mouth. He knew what this list was but the thought that _Dick_ made a hit list, no matter how demonic he's become, was almost unfathomable. It just didn't quite connect. He found himself questioning it without thinking.

"What the hell is this?"

He mentally facepalmed for asking the stupidly obvious. Truthfully, he half expected to hear a witty _'my shopping list, obviously'_ or something equally dumb. Instead, that ravenous stare was back on him full-blast. There was no response at first, just an uncomfortable silence. Then, Dick spoke in that unsettling arctic whisper.

"The damned."

Had it been the old times, when Dick was still Nightwing and Jason was Robin, Jason would have snarked back about Bruce's melodramatics rubbing off on the older boy. But these weren't the old times and those soft words left his gut churning. It wasn't _what_ he said but _how_ he said it that got under Jason's skin. There was such unmistakable malignance in his tone that even Batman would be chilled to the core. Rather than linger on the discomfort, he kept reading the list. There was one break in the names, a section that looked like it'd been hacked at. There was no hope of reading what name had been there. The curiosity ate at Jason, but he continued on. It was a varied list, going from super villains to people Jason would have marked as average Joes. His eyebrows rose once he hit one name in particular.

"Slade Wilson. You're gonna try to kill _Deathstroke?"_

That unsettling stare turned sharp, nearly vicious, at the surprise in Jason's voice. He almost backtracked from that look alone.

"He wronged me. I _will_ kill him."

Jason let out a low whistle at the sheer level of spite in his words. He knew all about the feud between his brother and the super-assassin. Who didn't? The fights between the two, particularly when Dick had been Robin, were something of legends among teen heroes. Now that Dick was turned into _this_ , he almost pitied Slade. _Almost._ Whatever Hell he brought upon himself was completely deserved. As his eyes swept back to the list, he couldn't help but wonder just what the rest had done to deserve it as well. _'Catalina Flores, where have I heard that name before?'_

"If this is everyone that wronged you, I gotta say I'm surprised the list ain't bigger."

Making enemies in their line of work, well, _previous_ line of work was laughably easy. What hero didn't have their scars? It was meant as a joke, but the look he got in return made the light tone wither on his lips.

"It was."

Talon pushed a box that was sitting on a table. Jason's gaze fell onto the now exposed portion of the wall and that sickening feeling returned. Names lined the paneling, all scratched out. Many were from Gotham's elite that Jason never bothered to look into. He hardly pegged them as criminals. Then there were others; Elaine Marsh-Morton - otherwise known as Lady Vic or Lady Victim, and Tom and Tad Trigger - The Trigger Twins, Dudley Soames, Shrike, Guillermo Barrera, Randy Hanrahan, Giz, Mouse. All noted criminals and assassins. All crossed out. The list of scratched out names went on and on. It flooded to the next panel and ended at the next target: Harvey Dent. It wasn't too surprising, given how the madman had tortured Dick when he was Robin.

He was impressed by the body count Talon was able to rack up without drawing attention to himself. Hell, Jason was part of the underground scene and he never heard so much as a whisper of someone murdering others left and right. Sure, he heard word that some of the more notable people, like Lady Vic, were dead but nothing else on the topic. No one ever connected them together. To find out it was all _Dick fucking Grayson_ that killed them? He's pretty sure his brain shorted out for a few moments trying to process it.

"I almost added _you_."

Jason had to force himself not to jump at the unexpected words. While he'd been focused on piecing everything together, Talon had slipped uncomfortably close. He was all but looming at this point. If Jason's armor didn't cover him so completely, he's pretty sure he'd be able to feel Talon's breath on his neck. Then, what Talon said caught up with him. He resisted the urge to step away from the eerie assassin. Dick seemed to notice this hesitation and spoke again.

"But I don't want you dead."

There was an unspoken _'yet'_ at the end of his sentence, Jason could feel it. He couldn't decide whether those words were meant to be comforting or a warning.

"Y'know, that's not as reassuring as a 'But I couldn't kill you'."

Again, it was meant as a joke, and again that look was all too serious. No matter how familiar the voice, he had to remember this wasn't the man he knew. It was a monster, as was evident by the cold stare he got in return. The silence that greeted his words was all he needed to know. This...this _shadow_ of Dick Grayson could kill him and not feel an ounce of remorse. Jason promptly ignored all the reasons that hurt. He could still feel that heartless gaze on him as he returned to staring at the list. There were names Jason expected to see but didn't. In fact, it infuriated him just a bit that a _certain_ name wasn't on his brother's list.

"I don't see Joker here."

There was no hiding the ire in his words. All these names and Joker - fucking _Joker -_ wasn't deemed worthy of Talon's time. It pissed him off more than just a little bit. His fists clenched tight as he tried to reign in his temper; his hurt. There was another beat of silence before Talon spoke.

"Not mine to kill, not mine to add."

He then pointed at the section of wall that looked like it'd been hacked at. It was clear now that it had been Joker's name on the wall. Any response Jason had came to a halt as he was presented with a wicked looking knife. He got a pointed look from the assassin, making his intentions very clear. It was to be Jason's vengeance and so Jason should carve his name. He stared at the blade in surprise while Talon continued on.

"I was going to torture him. Drag out every last inch of his life then slaughter him like the swine he is. ...Then, I found out you still lived."

That rage fizzled out under the confusing assortment of bewilderment and, as much as he'd deny it, happiness. Despite the frigid, impersonal tone and former treatment, Jason couldn't help but be a little pleased _someone_ was going to avenge him. He didn't doubt the assassin's words in the slightest. Given his possessiveness up until this point, it'd align just right for him to seek out the one who killed 'his Little Wing'. Jason took the blade and traced his free hand over a blank spot on the wall. He let out a slow breath then dug the dagger in. Each stroke of the blade was slow and deliberate. A bit of hate flowed into every line. As that hate and anger mounted, the gouges grew deeper. When the name was complete, it was cut further into the wood than any other. He had to yank out the blade at the end of the 'R'.

Teal eyes glared at the name and the dagger trembled in his grip. This must be why Dick chose to carve the names rather than write them down. It was much more intimate; made one really remember _why_ they were on the list. In a spur of rage, Jason sliced yet another name into the wall beneath Joker. He could remember her high pitched laughter and nasally voice just as well as the Jokers. She was as guilty as him and she'd _pay. 'HARLEY QUINN'._ He grit his teeth as he glared at the names. His fury was evident in the growing choppiness of the lettering. It was less meticulous in style and fueled by his emotions. The memories dredged up brought with them the familiar heat of wrath and hate. It caused him to quake from the sudden onslaught. He all but snarled as he slammed the dagger back into the wood, carving even more names. Everyone that hurt him would feel his pain tenfold.

All the while, Talon watched silently. He was curious as to who would be sentenced to death by his little brother next. There were names he didn't recognize and names he did, like Sal Maroni. The list was not nearly as extensive as his own, but the sheer resentment that went into each stroke and letter could almost even the gap. As reluctant as Jason had been to cooperate in the beginning, Talon knew they could work well together on this. They _would._

Jason took a step back from the wall and let out a low breath. The animosity still poisoned his veins, but he felt a little lighter marking those names down. It'd feel even better once those names had lines through them, he just knew it. It would calm some of his inner demons to rid the world of those scum. With Talon's help, he knew they'd all fall. So, _why_ did it feel like he just made a pact with the Devil?

There was still one name he's yet to mark down. It would have been two, but he doubted Talon would appreciate his attempts to add Tim Drake to the list of the damned. That thought made his temper flare just a bit more. Having to spare his replacement just because Dick was obscenely possessive sent spikes of frustration through his nerves. He ground his teeth and gripped the handle of the dagger a little firmer. Then, he started to add that last name, the hardest one to write. The one that he would have given his life for and almost had. The one that failed him. _Bruce Wayne._ Jason didn't get further than 'BRUCE' before his forearm was caught in an unforgiving grip.

"No."

He looked at Talon with something akin to betrayal at being stopped. Tim he could understand. He didn't like it, but he understood. _Bruce though?_

"What the hell, Dick? After _everything_ that's happened to us you're just going to let him go?! He deserves to be on this damn list! He needs to pay for his failures!"

The words were spat out with such venom, it was nearly enough to hide the pain that lingered under the surface. The slight crack in his tone near the end didn't help his situation. There was still no reaction to his torment or anger. Then, Dick calmly moved his hand to cover Jason's own hold on the hilt.

"Death isn't justice. It isn't vengeance. It's solace. _Justice and vengeance?_ They come before death."

The way he spoke, so soft yet so unbelievably vicious, caused a chill to run down Jason's spine. Then, he moved the dagger under both their command and began to carve a new name.

"You want Bruce to suffer? _He will suffer."_

 _'B'_

"He will beg and plead for the children he forsook."

 _'A'_

"He will be reminded how he failed. Every. Single. Day."

 _'T'_

"We will face him but we will not offer forgiveness."

 _'M'_

"We will break him but we will not offer solace."

 _'A'_

"Death would be kind, Jason."

 _'N'_

 _"I am not kind."_

Jason stood enraptured by his voice, envisioning what he spoke of. There was a dark, damning promise to his words that filled the younger man with a sick sort of glee. Originally, he wanted to just end Bruce's life for leaving him in the caverns of Arkham but _this?_ This would be so much better. The utter iciness of Talon's hate contrasted so wildly against the searing heat of Jason's own animosity. Combined, the two could surely bring ruin to anyone and anything in their path. The plan he had started shifting to accommodate the ideas now planted in his head. Jason spoke low and slow, voicing the thoughts as they formed.

"We kill the bat and leave the man."

Bruce is his real mask, not the cowl. To be left with only 'Brucie' would certainly be a hell of his own making. And to know it's all because of the sons he forgot and _replaced?_ That would definitely destroy him. _'If he even cares at all.'_ The invasive thought couldn't help but crop up. Jason was still utterly convinced Bruce felt nothing for them other than their shelf life and how useful they could be. Being forced to live every single day seeing the weapons he cultivated turned against him would be so delicious. Yes, Jason could see the merit of Talon's plan on leaving him alive.

The assassin watched the thoughts rolling through his brother's head with interest. He gave a slight nod at Jason's words. It was what he intended on doing. Destroy the legend of Batman, leave nothing but ashes in their wake. It would torment their 'father'. He could hardly live without the cowl and cape. They would strip him down, hollow him out and leave him cold, just like he left them to be.

"He'll know the pain of being left with a face that isn't truly his."

Talon's tone was acrid in its loathing. The two looked at each other, taking note of the disfigurations that marred the other, making them almost strangers. Dick's distortions were far more severe, but Jason was marked so cruelly by his tormenter that he could hardly stomach his own reflection on good days. What happened to the two was tragic. What they planned to do to Bruce will be anathema. A cruel smirk curled up Jason's lips. The day of reckoning was drawing near and he couldn't wait to watch them all burn.

He was drawn from his musings by Dick taking his dagger back. Why he needed all those knives on him, Jason still didn't know. He was a living weapon with fucking _claws._ Then again, he liked to pack an excessive amount of weapons himself. Maybe it was a comfort to feel that much more protected. Though if he were being truthful, Talon gave off a vibe that it was just to have more ways to kill people. Really, he had no room to judge.

The assassin then handed Jason his equipment back. It was a bit of a shock but he quietly took the peace offering. At least, that's how Jason thought Talon was offering them to him. A sort of olive branch. He woke up here despising Talon and would leave here feeling something close to camaraderie with the killer. Those cold, cruel words still echoed in the back of his mind, warning him not to become complacent near Dick. _'By my name you lived, Little Wing. By my name, you'll die.'_

Jason holstered his guns and clipped on his belt, feeling safer in his full Arkham Knight regalia. When Talon placed a guiding hand on his shoulder, it felt like the cold hand of death gripping him. He motioned toward the window and gave an almost feral look.

"The sun is setting. We have hunting to do."

He didn't miss the fact that Talon didn't ask if he wanted to hunt with him, but rather issued it like a command. Jason gave a sigh as he checked his comms and messages. His men were a bit frantic that he went missing, especially after receiving such a grotesque 'gift'. He radioed over to Bax to let the man know their commander was fine. Then, he turned his attention to the waiting assassin. Talon was perched on the window sill staring at him, owl mask firmly in place. His pose was almost achingly similar to how Dick used to perch at the edge of ledges, just on the balls of his feet and teetering dangerously. It was yet another reminder that no matter how heinously different he was now, there were still some Grayson mannerisms left in the man.

"I've got to get back to base. My men are freaking out since _some_ people can't talk to others without kidnapping them."

He took a cautious step toward the window, testing the waters. Jason wasn't sure how this crueler version of Dick would take his disobedience. If Talon let him out, then that'd be great. It'd mean he wasn't as freakishly controlling as Jason was led to believe. If he didn't let him out? Well, there wasn't too much he could do about that but follow his previous orders, was there? He was mentally rooting for the former but expecting the latter. Talon gave that strange little head tilt and made no effort to move from the sill. Jason was forced to come to a halt before the assassin. A frustrated noise rumbled in his throat at the lack of cooperation from Dick.

"Seriously, I need to go. We can 'hunt' some other time. I have shit I need to do."

What was meant to be forceful came out a little closer to a plea than he would have liked. There was a beat of silence and neither moved. Then, Talon grabbed him by his armor and yanked him forward with more force than Jason was expecting. He was only just able to choke back the startled noise from slipping out as he steadied himself. In reflex, he grabbed for his weapons but didn't fully unholster them. No need to rile up the crazy undead killing machine after they just got on friendly-ish terms. Dick pulled him so close, their masks nearly touched. The vicious, almost ravenous edge to his voice had Jason swallowing in fear.

"Go. Settle your business. Look at the flash drive. After that, we _will_ hunt."

There was no room left for argument in those selfish, hellish words. He found himself nodding in agreement with the terms. Jason could deal with a compromise. It was honestly more than he was expecting from Dick at this point. Talon shoved him away with the same amount of force, nearly causing Jason to trip over his own feet. Then, he leapt from the window with the same enviable grace that left all who saw in awe of the last of the Flying Graysons.

A shaky breath came from Jason as he attempted to calm his spiking nerves. This had not gone like he planned _at all._ After one last look around the room with a pause to re-read the names, Jason made his own escape. It was going to be a long night, that was for sure. He had to figure out what the hell to do about Scarecrow now that Talon threw himself into the mix. That could wait until the more immediate problems were addressed, though. There were men to sort out, orders to give, and, most importantly, a flash drive to examine.


End file.
